A/n: This is the sequel to my story "Nothing I've Become" and the third in the "Alone, Eternally" series. This story deals with Cole, primarily, and how he's dealing with life without Phoebe. I'm not sure how many parts this work will be, but there will most likely be at least three chapters. I hope you enjoy this latest installment.

Katie

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything that has to do with Charmed. I'm just playing with the characters because they're too much fun to be left alone. Also, I have nothing to do with Lifehouse's excellent song, "Fool." Such is life.

Setting: December 2010

Reaching for You

sequel to Nothing I've Become

a story by Ryeloza

Seems my own arrogance
has knocked me off my feet again
When you know I'm crawling to
you as fast as I can
First teach me to walk
and then I'll learn to dance for you
Like an honest clumsy clown
tripping along the way

-Lifehouse, "Fool"

Cole stumbled out of the bar with such little grace that he slipped off the curb and into the street. Fortunately, there was a car parked next to where he fell, and he managed to use the back bumper to hoist himself off of the ground. Without much thought he tripped back up onto the sidewalk and began staggering down the street.

All he had to do was make it back to his apartment and collapse somewhere. A simple enough task. If he accidentally fell back into the street and got hit by a passing car, all the better. It'd save him the trouble of drinking himself to death.

Three and a half years ago he'd been a man with all the hope in the world for the perfect life. His dreams had been crushed in a matter of minutes, though, and he'd once again become a broken man. But at least that broken man had a choice: live or die.

After three and a half years, Cole had chosen the latter.

He'd given life a half-hearted try, but it had all seemed so meaningless without the woman he loved by his side. Slowly but surely, he'd fallen into old habits. Whiskey, gin and vodka were his only companions now.

He wasn't exactly sure why he was killing himself in this slow, complacent manner. By now he could have thought of a hundred different ways to commit suicide. None of them seemed very appealing, though, and he was beginning to wonder if somewhere in the back of his mind he thought she might appear one day. An angel in the hazy morning light that streamed through the dirty window of his apartment. She'd save him from his inner demons, just as she had in the past and they'd be free to love again.

Sometimes he was so sickeningly sentimental and delusional it made him laugh.

Ah, and there it was: home sweet home. Cole stared up at the slightly blurry outline of his apartment building and then leaned heavily against the wall. He needed to moment to gather himself before stumbling up four flights of stairs. Maybe tonight would be the night. Maybe tonight he'd fall down the stairs and break his neck. In a few hours someone would find him in a heap on the floor and unceremoniously call the police to tell them the drunkard in 4B had finally killed himself. Sweet success.

With his luck he'd probably just manage to paralyze himself.

Straightening up as best he could, Cole reached out to open the door only to have it shoved open towards him, smacking him hard in the jaw. Without pause, Cole toppled backwards and the man who had opened the door took off running.

Man down, thought Cole, and he blacked out.

Hours later, Cole woke up, squinting against the light pouring into the room. He'd forgotten to close the blinds last night and now he was paying the price. Of course, he might ask how he'd even gotten into his bed in the first place, but his head was pounding too hard to answer the question at the moment. As he shut his eyes again, his stomach lurched and he rolled out of bed and crawled to the bathroom, not quite making it to the toilet. Instead he threw up in the bathtub.

When the initial heaving had passed, he crawled to the toilet and draped himself against it, preparing to purge his stomach of everything he'd taken in during the past twenty-four hours. Just as he finished throwing up again, he heard someone say, "I never needed to see this."

Cole looked up, squinted at the person in the doorway, and promptly shut his eyes, this time in desperation. "Oh God, I'm hallucinating," he said, praying that the figure would be gone when he opened his eyes again. "And it's not a good one."

"Well at least he's awake," said another voice.

Cole opened his eyes and saw that there were now two people watching him empty his stomach into the toilet of his grungy apartment. And he hadn't thought his life could possibly get worse. He shut his eyes again. "Go away, go away, go away, go away..." he chanted continually, trying to block out the couple standing before him.

They didn't. Instead, the first speaker said, "Yeah, now if only he was sober." There was a sigh. "We'll come back when you're finished, Cole."

And he was left alone to hope they'd never return.

Eventually, Cole fell asleep, still hugging the toilet and fearing the return of his unwelcome companions. He dreamt of the past; fuzzy images of a time he used to be happy. When he jerked awake again his head was still throbbing and he had drooled all over his cheek. Wiping it away, he sat back and looked around the tiny bathroom for signs of the intruders. They didn't appear to be there anymore.

"It was a dream," he whispered. "A horrible, horrible dream."

Cautiously rising, Cole braced his hands on the wall to support him through a dizzy spell. When it passed, he took several jerky steps to the door and back into his bedroom. Feeling near fainting, he registered the smell of bacon and coffee and nearly threw up again.

It's not coming from my kitchen, he thought hopelessly. Oh God, don't let it be coming from my kitchen.

When he finally staggered to the doorway of his bedroom, though, and saw that the smells were coming from his kitchen, he sunk to the floor with his head cradled in his hands. "It wasn't a dream," he moaned.

Someone approached, and he saw a pair of feet cross into his line of vision. "You want some breakfast, Cole?"

He finally looked up and faced his fear directly, not quite able to comprehend what he was seeing. Menacingly towering over him was none other than Prue Halliwell, dead nine years. Not that he put too much stock in death. After all, he'd beat it multiple times. But he was one thing; Prue was another thing entirely. "What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

"We're here to save you Cole," said Prue. Cole shut his eyes.

"You've gotta be kidding me."